The lovely images left a warm glow behind, but her thoughts took a sharp turn as she realized that it was all over and the beginning of the school year was just around the corner. One more week before I have to be around Eydeth and Ellysian again! she thought ruefully. As awful as the prospect of facing the twins seemed, however, she couldn’t help but smile when she remembered that Hroombra had promised to take her and her friends to the marshlands in the Longuinn Valley for one last summer camping trip.
Jahrra sat bolt upright, startling a covey of quail relaxing in the shade several feet away. They were leaving early tomorrow morning and she still had to pack for the trip. Jahrra lifted herself up out of her grassy nest and ran down the shady lane between the trees and into her tiny cabin.
By mid-morning the next day the three friends were atop Hroombra, clinging to one another as they looked fearfully into the depths of the Wreing Florenn.
“Come now children, this is the main road into Edyadth. It’s perfectly safe,” he said to encourage them. “Besides,” he continued with a mischievous grin, “what monster or creature would be brave enough to attack a dragon?”
“You know about the monsters that live in the forest?!” Jahrra asked in a harsh whisper.
“I’ve heard stories, yes, but I’ve never seen them,” he answered, leaving the frightened children to draw their own conclusions.
It was a long walk, for the Longuinn Valley was on the opposite end of the Great Sloping Hill and the Wreing Florenn was a rather large forest. When Hroombra finally emerged from its dark depths and descended onto the main road into Edyadth, Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede gave a great sigh of relief. Soon all thoughts of monsters, ghosts and witches left their minds as they crossed the rolling farmlands and the valley came into view. The town of Edyadth itself lay between the edge of the Wreing Florenn and a crop of hills in the east in the middle of the Longuinn Valley.
As they drew closer to the valley town, Jahrra peeked around Hroombra’s great neck to get a better view. A sprawling group of tavern-like buildings were hunched together along the side of the road running through the center of the settlement. They looked like giant heads buried halfway in the ground, their windows like secretive eyes glancing warily at passersby, their roofs like giant mushroom-shaped hats concealing their devious intentions.
Most of the structures were made of wood, but here and there a stone house would stand out like a cheerful friend among glowering strangers. There were no trees nearby, apart from a few scattered oaks and those in the Wreing Florenn that loomed behind them like a dark cloud. The land surrounding Edyadth was strangely barren and it had the look of the dead of winter hanging about it, even on this warm summer day.
Jahrra glanced down at the street as Hroombra traipsed along past the silent and brooding buildings. They’d left the sandy road behind and were now sloshing through a shallow river of mud.
“Master Hroombra,” Jahrra whispered above the sucking and smacking sound of the dragon’s footsteps, “why are the streets so wet?”
“Do you see that creek to the east?” Hroombra answered, pointing his head towards the hills. “It flows out of the hills, and a natural spring keeps it fed all year long. Therefore, the streets are always soggy.”
“Is that why there are so many sidewalks?” Gieaun asked.
“Yes, Gieaun. Everybody likes to avoid mud, well,” he paused and smiled down at his own feet, “maybe not everybody.”
Jahrra gazed at the scenery unfolding around her, watching the locals strolling on the sidewalks or riding their horses through the damp streets. There was something strange about them, something different. They walked around vigilantly, hunched over as if trying to sneak away from a crime they’d just committed. When Jahrra made eye contact with one or two of them, they quickly glanced away, covering their faces with their hats or jacket collars.
“Master Hroombra,” Jahrra prodded silently, still watching the last man that had hidden his face from her, “why are these people acting so strangely?”
“They fear dragons, Jahrra, like those in Aldehren. It’s one of the reasons I seldom leave the Ruin.” He sighed wearily. “They’ll act strangely with me walking around.”
Jahrra nodded in compliance, not needing any further explanation. That first day of school had been so long ago that she’d almost forgotten the effect her reptilian mentor had had on its inhabitants. Hroombra hadn’t gone into town with her since, well, not until today.
As the group approached the southern end of town a rather large field filled with a crowd of people fell into view. Hroombra slowed his pace to pass by the raucous mass, many of its members spilling from the swampy field onto the street. Jahrra leaned forward to get a better look. A few people glanced back grumpily to learn who had nudged them, only to move forward nervously when they noticed Hroombra walking past. A few began to whisper warnings to their comrades, and the outer circle of the crowd began pressing inward as more and more people turned to see the approaching Korli dragon.
“Who are all those people there in the middle of the crowd?” Scede asked aloud.
Jahrra glanced up then and immediately saw what her friend was talking about. In the center of the muddy field stood a line of ten or so people all with their heads bowed. They were dirty and thin, their hands and feet bound in chains and ropes and dressed in nothing more than rags. Jahrra gasped when Hroombra drew breath to answer Scede’s question.
“Those people are slaves Scede, taken forcefully from their homeland and brought here to be sold,” he said solemnly, ignoring the stares and jeers being thrown his way. “Usually slaves aren’t brought as far west as Oescienne, but every so often a slave trader makes a point to try his luck here. It’s a most horrendous and despicable thing to buy and sell another being. Unfortunately, not everyone feels this way.”
Jahrra turned her head to look at the poor creatures once more. She frowned as the first person in line, a young man with dark, tangled hair, was pushed upon a pedestal to be bartered off like an animal.
“Master Hroombra, how can some people sell other people?” she asked, a spark of anger coloring her voice.
“Because no one is willing to put an end to it,” he answered simply, masking his own fury and frustration. “At least, no one is brave enough to defy the Crimson King and his minions. It’s up to those of us who know better to find a way to do away with it.”
“How can we do that?” Gieaun asked.
“By growing up and teaching others that such things are wrong, young Gieaun. When enough people in the world know that owning another person is wrong then perhaps there will be enough people to change it.”
Hroombra continued on past the mustering crowd as quickly as he could. As they walked on, Jahrra turned to look upon the dismal scene behind them. The shouts of the bidders broke free from the general murmur and soon the first man was replaced by another slave on the pedestal.
Jahrra furrowed her brow and glared at the stuffy men and women, imagining that the twins’ parents were probably here somewhere. Those people bidding on the slaves wore robes of silk and fur and were attended by servants, or more likely, other slaves Jahrra realized. They resembled brightly plumed birds, fluffed up and shifting discontentedly in the filthy street.
The fancy women and spotless men were all quite impressive, but as Jahrra scanned the far edge of the crowd one man in particular caught her attention. This person’s impeccable clothing and tall, finely dressed horse were quite a contrast to the muddy streets and plain clothes of many of the common town folk. Even the other well-dressed men and women looked grungy standing next to him. He was slightly taller than most of those around him, and although he didn’t look at Jahrra, his gaze on the enslaved people was a hard, focused one. He wore what looked like green velvet, so dark it was almost black, but Jahrra suspected it was something more intriguing than just that; some rare fabric that had been woven with magic by elves. The reins he held belonged to his snow-white horse, or more likely, a semequin.
Suddenly, the man turned and looked directly at her, his bright, piercing green eyes locking with her own. Jahrra had never seen eyes like this, eyes that seemed to pierce her soul. Beneath a closely trimmed beard and mustache his features were fine and strong. He didn’t look old, but he didn’t look young either, and his face was grim and stony, as if he were trying to make a thousand difficult decisions at once.
The man eventually turned his attention back to look at the row of chained people with glum faces, releasing Jahrra from his overpowering gaze. As his head turned, Jahrra caught a glimpse of a sharply pointed ear resting against his dark hair. Her eyes grew wide as she let out a small gasp, quiet enough for no one else to hear. He had to be an elf; his ears were even more pointed than the twins’, and those two were always claiming to be almost pure elf.
Jahrra was enthralled by the strange elfin man, but her stomach turned as soon as she realized that he was here to buy slaves like everyone else. She didn’t know why, but she felt terribly disappointed in him for doing such an atrocious thing. Yes, she expected the evil twins and their family to do something as appalling as trade people like merchandise, but why was she so shocked to see this stranger doing it? Jahrra quickly turned her head and tucked her chin against her chest, trying to squeeze those bright green eyes out of her memory. They had been so cold, but so sad. It was almost as if the soul inside of the body had burned out long ago and there was just an emptiness left behind.
“Master Hroombra, how much farther are the marshlands from here?” Jahrra asked once Edyadth was behind them.
“Not long. I know it’s been a dull journey, but believe me, what is at the end of it is worth the wait.”
“Are the marshlands better than Lake Ossar?” Scede asked.
“I wouldn’t say they are better, but I think you’ll enjoy them just the same,” Hroombra said with a smile.
The lazy minutes ticked away as the dragon and his riders moved farther southward. The wide dirt road they traveled passed through golden green fields sprinkled with fading wildflowers and fell and climbed with the rolling landscape. Much of this land was grazing land, so the three friends took turns pointing out cows, horses, sheep and goats wandering freely through the open fields. The Longuinn Creek twisted and turned below the road, complimenting them with its cheery babble as they traveled along.
It was late afternoon by the time the group reached the wetlands. At first glance the marsh was a refreshing splash of brilliant green nestled between the dull olive and ocher hills, but as they moved closer Jahrra took note of the differences from Lake Ossar. Instead of sand dunes and the salty scent of sea water, the marshland was guarded by the rising land and the sweet aroma of a thousand wildflowers.
White water lily blossoms shone like a thousand moons upon the water’s dark surface, and rows of brilliant blue bog irises waved in the breeze like the standards of an army. Dragonflies and other insects darted and floated over the glimmering water paradise, their wings and legs clicking faintly in a summertime chorus. Birds and butterflies of all shapes and sizes painted bright spots against the blue sky as they visited flower after flower or searched for shallow places to bathe.
Jahrra closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She felt the sun’s warm caress on her skin, a sensation akin to a great, golden blanket enveloping her in safety. She smiled inwardly, happy that this beautiful scene was slowly taking the place of the oppressive images she’d witnessed in town.
“Now, children,” Hroombra said softly, breaking into Jahrra’s dream world, “we need to make camp, and we still have a little farther to go before we can do so.”
“But we’re at the wetlands,” Jahrra blurted, tightening her grip on one of Hroombra’s spikes. “Isn’t this where we’re supposed to be?”
Hroombra smiled. “Yes dear Jahrra, but I wish to camp in the hills, there, where those towering rocks are.”
He nodded to a group of large stones sitting atop a natural shelf on the hillside above the great marsh.
Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede tilted back their heads and gaped up at the cairn. Jahrra thought it resembled a crown of stone atop the head of a giant trapped in the earth.
Hroombra began his trek up the narrow path twining along the hillside, the children stretching their necks to capture the changing view from his back. The sun was low on the horizon now, but there was still plenty of daylight left before dusk. The marsh below was a glimmering mirror rimmed in emerald, reflecting the slanted light of sunset. In the distance, the town of Edyadth looked like a collection of ant hills cowering beneath the shadow of the Wreing Florenn.
Jahrra shivered, imagining monsters crawling out of the forest in order to terrorize the townspeople. She quickly turned her gaze back to the path ahead and wondered what could be up this hill among the stones that interested her mentor so much.
It didn’t take them long to reach the rocky outcropping, but once they did, Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede glanced around in wonder.
“What is this place?” Scede asked, his mouth hanging open as he clung to his sister in front of him.
Hroombra stepped past the first few stone columns encircling a large patch of bare earth. Jahrra couldn’t help but notice that most of these rocks stood taller than her mentor’s head. Beyond the outer rim of stone pillars, the hillside dropped away, becoming lost in a scattering of oak and chaparral shrub.
“This,” Hroombra said smiling, “is called the Dragons’ Court. Long, long ago when dragons lived in Oescienne, this is where they met to discuss important matters. Sometimes even the king of Oescienne would be invited.”
Jahrra blinked in wonderment, suddenly feeling the importance and significance of this sacred place. Her skin began to prickle and she thought she could hear whispering on the gentle wind sloughing past her cheek and fingering through her hair. She scrambled off of Hroombra’s back when she felt a cool absence behind her, but her unease forced her to stay close to the dragon’s side even as her friends began to explore. Why does this place make me feel so anxious? she wondered, raking her eyes over the brush beyond the edge of the wide stone ring as she pressed up against Hroombra’s foreleg.
Jahrra was shocked from her veiled restlessness when Hroombra yanked on the great blanket folded across his back, almost burying her beneath it. With a great jerk of his head he spread it out upon the flat ground for the children to rest on. He then instructed them to gather some fallen branches and pile them together for a fire.
Jahrra reluctantly joined her friends, fearing to move beyond the ring of stones. Nevertheless, the thought of exploring this new place seemed too tempting to pass up, despite her earlier disquiet. Once the three of them had a good pile of kindling Hroombra breathed a stream of ruby flame upon it, causing the wood to leap with fire. The children huddled together on the blanket and Hroombra lay down as well, folding legs and wings as he settled in for the night.
The sun winked before disappearing below the horizon just as the cheery blaze replaced its light. The sky slowly turned from crimson to deep indigo, and the sounds of the night began creeping up all around them. Over the chorus of crickets, the whirring of summer beetles and the solitary mourning of an owl, Hroombra began telling the children the myths of the past.
“Now I wish to tell you an old story, a story almost as old as Ethoes herself,” Hroombra said in a quiet, humming voice that blended with the hushed sounds of the night.
The children clustered together anxiously, preparing themselves for another good tale. The old dragon told them then the story of Traagien, the first warrior dragon that Ethoes ever created. He wove a legend of loyalty and bravery, of sacrifice and forgiveness, explaining to the children that it was because of Traagien that Ciarrohn first fell, and because of his compassion that the elves got a second chance at their immortality.
When Hroombra finished his story he sat in regal stillness, looking ancient painted in the orange firelight. Jahrra felt awed and slightly saddened by the tale. When she peered over at her friends, she
saw that both were staring up at Hroombra with impressed expressions on their faces; she knew they felt the same way she did.
After a few moments of silence, the great dragon pointed his head towards the sky. The stars shone more brightly in this valley for some reason, and as Hroombra instructed the children to look up, he pointed Traagien out to them.
“There,” he said, “in the northeastern sky. He watches over us all the year round, circling the constellation Aelhean and the north star, Noiramaebolis.”
Jahrra looked up and traced the shape of a dragon over the eastern hills with her finger.
“What’s that bright star called? The red one?” she asked, pointing to the center of the dragon shaped in starlight.
“That is Atrova, the Dragon’s Heart,” Hroombra answered knowingly.
Jahrra smiled, settling back between Gieaun and Scede. She knew that from now on she would always have something to draw courage from if she ever felt alone or afraid. In life, Traagien had protected the weak and helpless, and perhaps he could watch over her now from the heavens.
Hroombra told them a little more about the summer constellations as the three friends lay on their backs gazing up in wonder and a meteor shower began shortly after he finished his lesson in astronomy.
“Ah, this reminds me of the story of the Oak and the Pine,” Hroombra said, smiling at the brilliant streaks of colorful light above. “When Ethoes created her very first trees, the Oak and the Pine, she drew them in the sky above and set the bright stars to outline them. The Pine kept its leaves all the year round, never shedding a single one while the Oak lost them completely in the winter.”
The dragon glanced down at the three pairs of eyes watching him, glittering from the firelight.
“After some time, the Oak began to wonder why she had to lose her leaves while the Pine kept his. So the Oak went to Ethoes with her plight, ‘Why must I lose my leaves for half of the year while the Pine is allowed to keep his always? Why can I not keep mine as well?’
The Finding Page 11